Nothing ails me, I simply watched my domestic make up my bed with the prettiest Liberty printed pillows and I couldn’t resist hopping back in.
So here I am, recumbent in my boudoir, the air sweet with pink roses, dwelling on what to wear to tomorrow’s farmers market. I have to admit I nearly choked on my Gin when Arabella suggested it, but apparently buying your spinach and cheddar from rosy cheeked men in flatcaps and a Barbour, is nearly as chic as slumming it in Topshop. Now, rumour has it, that one’s usual Manolo’s just will not do the trick in a farmers field, so a whole new wardrobe is called for, starting of course with the ubiqtous Boden floral Wellingtons and one of those rather scrummy Cabbage and Rose Patchwork Hacking Jackets, one previously admired but could never quite conjure up a suitable occasion for. Add a Hermes Scarf tied Sussex Lady style and a vintage shopping basket, and you could easily mistake me for the sort of old money usually to be found wittering on the village green about how the new monied set are lowering the tone of their precious, ludicrously overpriced real estate.
Goodness how time flies! It’s practially dark. Before I know it the man in a suit will be home and trying to take liberties with my delicious fake-baked body. Thank god he’s the sort of man you can swat away like an over persistent fly.
Till Next Time Angels!